


Out of the Mouths of Babes

by Schm0use



Category: Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Nick and Ellis babysit, post-zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 03:31:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5523827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schm0use/pseuds/Schm0use
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes time, but the world is slowly piecing itself back together. Houses and cities are easy to rebuild, but relationships - not so much. </p><p>Sometimes, two idiots need a little extra push (and that Christmas spirit).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Mouths of Babes

It’s ten years later, and nothing is, by any means, back to normal.

CEDA has, by some miracle, managed to get their shit together. They had manufactured something of a cure about eight years back—but the damage had been done. Anyone already Infected was a lost cause; the cure only acted as a vaccine, and there were precious few people who hadn’t come into contact with anyone who already had the disease, or carried it. All that could really be done was to wait until the Infected had all died off and their corpses could be cleared from every city and disposed of, a process which took the better part of two years.

The United States has been gutted, its population a tiny, insignificant two percent of what it formerly was—it lives in spread out, regimented settlements across the country. America is effectively being quarantined by the rest of the world. Existence, for many of those remaining, is bleak, almost pointless.

But still. Life goes on.

“Fuck, it’s cold,” Nick hisses to himself, stomping his feet on the doormat and pounding his fist on Rochelle’s door once again. “Rochelle? Open the damn door! I can’t feel my face—”

The door swings open.

“Sorry, sorry!” She ushers him in, shivering in the seconds she’s exposed to the outside air. “Jesus, it’s chilly.”

“I realized,” Nick says dryly, pulling off his coat. It’s winter, late evening, and they’re in New York. He thought he’d get used to the winters up here, but after six years, it’s still just as bad as the first time.

Rochelle’s house is mercifully heated, and, of course, decked out in everything Christmas. The only thing missing is the tree—the living room is devoid of one, even with only two days left until the twenty-fifth.

Even after all this time, it’s weird to him, being somewhere familiar, even while the space belongs to somebody else. He’d been out of his parents’ house the day he turned eighteen, and hadn’t looked back. He’d gotten so used to just moving from place to place that the natural option had been to go back to that lifestyle when it was safe to do so. But—and he’d never admit this to the others—he hadn’t been able to stick with it. He’d made it all the way to the West Coast, to California, when he realized he needed to be near people, people he knew.

“Daniella! Michael! Living room, please!” Rochelle calls, and Nick grins at her no-nonsense attitude. How little things have changed.

“Yeah, get your asses out here and come say hi!” Nick adds, which makes Rochelle roll her eyes, and a second later, there are two tiny figures hurtling from an adjacent hallway to greet him.

And then again, how much things have changed. Rochelle’s two children: Daniella, six, and Michael, four. Both have these brilliantly curly mops of hair—Daniella’s is almost down to her waist, and it always amuses Nick to see them run, because their hair just flies around everywhere and its hilarious.

They call him Uncle Nick. They call Coach ‘Coach’ and Ellis ‘Ellis’ and sometimes ‘El’, but he gets Uncle, which, he supposes, says something about himself. Still, he will never get over how weird it is to hear it.

“You said asses!” Daniella screams, and then starts giggling.

“That’s a bad word,” Michael says solemnly.

Rochelle got married not that long ago. Actually, about seven years back, but it doesn’t seem like that long. How she managed to get a life going that fast, Nick still has no idea, but if anybody could do it, it’s her. Daniella and Michael are like the perfect ‘family movie’ kids—round faced and wide eyed and smart, and Nick still dislikes children, except for Rochelle’s. He’s become strangely attached to these mini, human-like things.

“Thank you so much for doing this,” Rochelle is saying. “You have no idea what it means to me.”

“It’s no trouble, Ro.” Nick tells her. He means it, but she obviously stills feeling guilty, because she adds,

“I would have asked Coach to do it, but his knee is killing him in this weather—and three days watching them—”

“It’s fine.” Nick ruffles Daniella’s hair absentmindedly—the girl has attached herself to his waist.

It’s a job interview Rochelle's going for. The position is local, but headquarters are in Wyoming, so she’ll be gone for a couple days—jobs are hard to come by, these days, even with the lack of people around. There’s just nothing structured anymore, no actual jobs to get. It’s hard enough to support yourself—supporting a family is infinitely harder.

“Yeah, I just…” Rochelle sighs. “With Jeremiah gone, too, I just wanted them to be with someone they knew on Christmas…”

Jeremiah is Rochelle’s husband. He’s a CEDA recruit, and one of the only reasons Nick can think of not to hate the organization. Winter is rough on humanity, nowadays, and he is out there, just helping, doing what he can. Unfortunately, this meant the kids would have nobody to watch them for the next couple of days.

“I know, sweetheart.” Nick tells her. “Just get out there and knock ‘em dead.”

Rochelle smiles at him. “Thanks. I will.” She stands. There’s a knock on the door. “Oh, that’ll be Ellis.”

Nick blinks. “You asked both of us?”

“Yeah, why?”

“What, you don’t think I can do this by myself?” he asks, slightly offended. He’s fucking amazing with children, never mind the fact that he can’t stand them.

“To be honest, I couldn’t decide between the two of you who to call.” She wraps a thick scarf around her neck. “Ellis is more likely to set them on fire, but you’re more likely to sell them for money, so I compromised and got both of you to make sure neither happened. I think it’s best this way.”

“Or infinitely worse!” Nick says, as she pulls open the door.

“Hey, Ro!”

Rochelle steps aside, and Ellis steps into the house, beaming, his greeting nearly drowned out by shrieks of “ELLIS!” from the kids. They mob him. He loves it.

“Oh, fine.” Nick huffs. “I can see who the favorite is.”

Ellis spots him.

“Hey, Nick.” He says, raising a hand in greeting.

“Hey? That’s all?” Nick grins. “How you been? I feel like I haven’t talked to you in like—what—”

Ellis laughs. “I’m getting’ by. You know me.”

“Good, that’s good…”

“Alright.” Rochelle announces, squaring her shoulders. “I’ll head out now, since you two are here…” She bends down to hug her children. “Be good, okay? I’ll miss you, and I’ll be home soon.”

They nod, obediently.

“You’re not gonna be here for Christmas?” Michael asks her. Rochelle bites her lip.

“No, Michael, I already told you. But I’ll be back the day after, okay sweetie? And we’ll celebrate then. You’ll have two Christmasses this year.”

“I don’t think you can do that—” Daniella begins to point out, but doesn’t get much further before Michael smacks her on the arm.

“Ow!”

“Shh! More presents!”

“Ohhh…”

Rochelle grins. “I love you both.” She kisses their foreheads, and stands to hug Nick and Ellis goodbye.

“The presents are in the garage, on top of the shelf against the back wall,” she whispers to Nick.

“Got it.”

“Please don’t blow up my house.” She says, a little louder so they all hear, as she steps out. “And Nick, try not to expand my children’s vocabulary too much.”

“No promises.” He smirks, and waves.

“Merry Christmas!” She calls, and then she’s gone.

Nick and Ellis turn to each other.

“So… what now?” Nick asks.

Right on cue, Michael starts crying.

What the fuck? Nick thinks in bewilderment. Weren’t you excited about two Christmasses or whatever like, four seconds ago?

“MICHAEL, BE QUIET,” Daniella shrieks. Michael wails harder.

 _Oh, shit,_  Ellis mouths at Nick, who just stares back.

Yeah, this is gonna be great.

***

By the time they get Michael calmed down, it’s bedtime, and Nick’s head is already pounding.

“Goodnight, Daniella,” he whispers from the doorway, ready to flick off the lights.

“Goodnight!” she whispers back, curling up under the covers. He closes the door quietly behind him, and heads for the kitchen. Ellis is already there, having gotten Michael to finally go to bed. He’s sitting at the little table, and looks up when Nick comes in.

“Where is the alcohol,” Nick says without preamble, and Ellis points to the fridge.

Nick pulls out two beers, tosses one to Ellis, and sits across the table from him.

“Goddamn. This is why I never want kids.”

Ellis laughs. “They ain’t that bad.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“I can tell you like them.” Ellis grins, eyes mischievous. “Don’t try and pretend like you don’t.”

“How can you tell?” Nick asks scornfully.

“You’re not mean to them.”

“They’re like, five.”

“Wouldn’t’ve stopped you ten years ago.” Ellis says, still smiling, watching him. Nick rolls his eyes.

They don’t really have much to say after that, for awhile. Nick drinks his beer, feels his headache lessen, has time to muse on things. For instance, this is probably the first time he and Ellis have been alone together since… well, for awhile. It’s always either Nick and Rochelle, or the four of them, or Rochelle is telling him about going to dinner with Coach and Ellis; something like that. He sees Rochelle a lot, actually, and he's slept on Coach's sofa more times than he can count (typically following heavy intoxication)… but lately, it hasn’t been just him and Ellis.

He wonders why that is.

Sometimes it makes Nick laugh, when he remembers he’s a year older than Coach was back when they first met. Sometimes it just makes him depressed. But at least both his knees still work. He hasn’t changed much—still looks about the same. He glances at Ellis, who is staring off into space.

Ellis has changed a bit. He doesn’t look much older than his late twenties, yet, but he does look older. He’s still damned good-looking; the kind of older guy high school girls dream about getting into the pants of, someday. This is somewhat enhanced by the fact that he acts less like the idiot Nick met ten years ago, spouting off stupid stories about him and his friends (he doesn’t really do that anymore), and acts a little more like a man who’s lived through a lot. Which he has. He stopped wearing that baseball hat a few years back. And his accent isn’t as blatantly, stereotypically Southern anymore, but he’s still got that drawl.

“What is it?” Ellis asks, and Nick realizes he’s been staring.

“Sorry. Nothing.” He shakes his head. “I was just thinking.”

Ellis nods. “Me too.”

“You?” Nick widens his eyes in surprise. “Thinking? This is new.”

“Shut the hell up,” Ellis laughs, still, when Nick makes fun of him. “Think I’m gonna turn in, as a matter of fact.”

It’s still a little early, and Nick looks at him in surprise. Before he has a chance to say anything, though:

“Oh, by the way…” Ellis’s mouth quirks. “Dibs on the bed.”

“What?!” Nick yelps—Ellis shushes him, and he drops his voice. “Not fair,” he hisses.

“I’ll arm wrestle you for it.”

Nick considers. “You are on.”

Seventeen seconds later,

“Ow, ow, fuck, okay. Okay, you get the bed.”

“Thank you kindly,” Ellis says haughtily.

***

“Yep. Yeah, the kids are fine. Ellis is making them lunch right now.” Nick glances into the kitchen from the living room. “Uhhh, chicken nuggets, I think.” He leans a hip against the table the phone is sitting on. “Ro, it’s been like, sixteen hours. If we were gonna kill them, we’d’ve done it by now.”

Her laugh comes through loud and clear, even through the terrible reception. Cross-country calls are no easy feat nowadays. “Sorry. I can’t help but worry a little, you know.”

“Where are you right now?” He asks.

“Iowa. Should reach Wyoming sometime tonight.” She groans. “God, this has been boring.”

“Hang in there,” he tells her, and wonders just when he got to be so encouraging and nice. It’s all their fault.

“Yeah. You too. How are you and Ellis doing?”

“We’re good.” He looks back into the kitchen. Ellis is doing something weird with the chicken nuggets—possibly pretending they’re airplanes, he doesn’t know. The kids are laughing delightedly. “Ellis is having the time of his life. You should see him.”

“I can imagine it.” She assures him. “And what about you?”

“You know me. I’m doing fine.”

“Yeah? So the two of you are doing alright? With each other?”

For a second, there's just static as Nick hesitates before answering. “We… are doing… fine… Rochelle, what are you—”

“Oh, shit, I gotta go,” she interrupts him. “I’ll call later, okay, Nick? Bye!”

The phone hits dial tone, and he stands there, feeling like he’s missed something important. He wanders into the kitchen, where Ellis is looking over his handiwork.

“Want some?” He holds out a plate with several nuggets on it to Nick, who shakes his head.

“I’ll pass. Something about the thought of unidentifiable, processed meat just doesn’t sit right with me, you know?”

“Suit yourself.” Ellis says, shoving one into his mouth. “Man, these things are delicious.”

The kitchen is quiet for a moment, as Ellis and the kids practically inhale the chicken nuggets. Nick fidgets with his back to the sink.

“So, I just got off the phone with Rochelle.” He mentions offhandedly.

“What’d she say?”

“Not much… just wanted to know how everybody’s doing.”

Ellis nods and eats another nugget. Nick considers telling him the rest of the conversation, but decides to do it later. It would be weird getting into a discussion in front of the kids.

In the end, he wouldn’t have been able to do it anyway, because Daniella steals Michael’s last chicken nugget, triggering a screaming fight and more tears, and they have to scramble to maintain any semblance of order.

“Theeere we go,” Nick says, some time later, handing Daniella a cup of frozen yogurt. They’re in a small shop (like most places food-related now, it is family owned), bribing the kids with sweet things. “Go wait over there while I pay for it, okay?” The light outside is dwindling a little bit now.

“We should start walking home before it gets really cold.” Ellis says when he joins them, and Nick agrees. The shop is, by relative standards, close to the house, but it’s a good twenty minute walk. The wind isn’t constant, but it’s just strong enough to be chilly, and blow Nick’s hair everywhere. He walks next to Ellis, and Daniella’s gloved hand holds on tightly to his; he’s having trouble adjusting his scarf one-handed.

He’s almost gotten used to it, being in the streets around the holidays and seeing no lights or wreaths on any of the houses, no half-hearted decorations put up by the city, strung between street lights and the like. One of the only things he sees to even indicate the time of year is a sad little makeshift Christmas tree lot across the street. Other than that, there’s nothing.

“—and so then, Harry gets to join the Quidditch team! Because he’s way cooler than Malfoy. And he gets his own broom, and—” Daniella is telling them the entire plot of the first Harry Potter book, which her dad has been reading to her. 

“Sweetheart, eat your ice cream.” Nick says tolerantly. “It’ll melt as soon as we get inside the house.”

Why they wanted ice cream when it is already freezing outside, he has no idea. Must be a kid thing.

“I’m already done!” Daniella says proudly.

“It’s not ice cream,” Michael adds, correcting him. “It’s frozen yogurt.”

“Right, yeah, whatever.” Nick nods. He looks at Ellis. “What the hell is this frozen yogurt shit, anyway? Normal kids eat ice cream.”

“Maybe back in your day, man,” Ellis says, shrugging. He’d bought one for himself. “This shit is good. And I got cheesecake squares in mine.”

“Did you just imply that I’m old?” Nick asks disbelievingly.

“Yes.” Ellis nods. Nick prepares himself to deliver an undoubtedly scathing comeback, and Ellis shoves a spoonful of yogurt in his mouth, with extra cheesecake thrown in for good measure. Nick stops walking, causing Daniella to come to a halt. Ellis stops about a foot ahead of them, turning to watch him in amusement. Michael is too focused on his frozen yogurt to notice much of anything. Nick swallows slowly.

“…Holy shit, that’s fucking amazing.”

Ellis breaks into a grin.

“Your cheeks are all red,” he says by way of response. Nick glares.

“It’s this damn wind—I have sensitive skin.”

This is clearly the wrong thing to say, because Ellis is now outright laughing at him.

“That’s adorable, Nick, really.”

“Call me adorable again, and I will kill you,” he growls. “Now give me more of that shit.”

Since he is still holding Daniella’s hand, Ellis ends up feeding him the yogurt the rest of the way back home. Normally, he wouldn’t condone such behavior. But there’s almost no one else out on the streets to see how disgustingly cute they must look, sharing a spoon and playing parents to two bundled up children, so Nick figures it’s okay. And besides, the fro-yo is really, really fucking good.

***

The rest of the evening passes without incident. They follow up the frozen yogurt with hot chocolate, and a rendition of ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas, as told from Ellis’s memory, which makes things interesting.

(“‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a ‘gator.’”

“Seriously, Ellis? You couldn’t remember that house rhymes with mouse?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s more exciting this way.”

“How, exactly?”

“Because if there's an alligator, there's the _possibility_ of it stirring, right?”)

The kids go to bed without much complaint, leaving Nick and Ellis to recoup (again) in the kitchen.

“So this frozen yogurt thing is big now, huh?”

“Was pretty big.” Ellis tries to cover a smile, probably at the fact that Nick is still on the damn topic of fro-yo. “Before the Infection.”

“Huh.” Nick nods, sitting down at the table. His eyes roam about the room, and he wonders when he forgot how to talk to Ellis. “I think Rochelle is up to something.” He blurts out, and Ellis raises his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” Nick shrugs, “You know what she’s like. She was weird on the phone today. I think she thinks we’re not, you know, hanging out enough.”

“Like, the four of us?” Ellis thinks about this. “Nah, I see you guys all the time.”

“No, I mean, just the two of us.” Nick says, and Ellis cocks his head.

There’d have been a time, not that long ago, when there would have been no way in hell Nick ever would have brought this up. It feels way too much like they’re talking about their ‘feelings’, which he’s definitely not into, but then again, he’s different now. He’s had to learn to trust other people, trust his life to other people, and that changes things. Ellis, Rochelle, and Coach are the closest things to best friends he’s ever—well, no, that’s not true. They’re not close to it, they are. He understands that.

And so if Rochelle thought there was something up between the two of them (and she was usually right about this sort of thing), then he owed it to all of them to at least address that.

“I mean, I don’t know,” he says awkwardly. “She implied it. I think. It was all just kind of confusing, actually.”

He knows Ellis well enough that he catches the slight aversion of the eyes, before the younger man looks back at him, and shrugs. “I think we hang out enough, don’t you?”

“No, wait, hang on.” Nick says. “I saw that.”

“Saw what?”

“That… that thing you do, you looked away, you— _is_ there something going on? Do you feel like we don’t see each other enough?”

Ellis is usually easier to read than an open pop-up book, unless he’s unsure about something. The reason being that Ellis is never unsure about anything, so when he is, it just fucks everything up. Nick can distinctly detect a subject being avoided, and it’s starting to annoy him.

“Look, would you just quit acting like a blushing schoolgirl already and tell me what the hell is wrong?” he snaps, sounding a little more annoyed than he meant to.

He knows immediately that this is a mistake, because Ellis shuts down on him.

“Nothing’s wrong,” the other man says, standing. “I’m beat—gonna turn in early.”

“It’s not even ten yet.” Nick stands too, so now they’re almost facing off, both of them clearly at a loss for words.

“Yeah.” Ellis grins at him. “Guess I’m getting old.” He turns to go, but Nick stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Ellis…” He has no idea what to say, because obviously, he’s not exactly a therapist over here. “If there’s something wrong, you can tell me. You know that, right? I won’t be an asshole about it.”

For a second, he thinks he’s said the right thing. Ellis looks like he’s going to come clean. Then,

“Forget it, alright?” Ellis shrugs his hand off. “I’ll see you in the morning, ‘kay? Night.”

And he just leaves Nick standing there in the kitchen. More confused than ever.

What the fuck, he thinks, is wrong with all his friends?

Wait, he realizes a second later. There is one person he can talk to. One person who will undoubtedly be a pillar of sanity for him, in these difficult times. A minute later:

“Hello?”

“Coach?” he’s actually relieved to hear the older man’s voice, even if its crackly as hell over the mediocre phone lines.

“Nick?” Coach asks, sounding confused. This is understandable, because it’s common knowledge that Nick hates talking on the phone. Then, he becomes serious. “Please tell me nothing happened with the children.”

“No, no, they’re—are me and Ellis really that bad?”

“Nicholas, what other reason could you possibly have for calling me at this hour?”

Nick is about to, once again, point out the relative youth of the night, but then he remembers that Coach is _old_ (still older than Nick, that's how time works, makes Nick feel better about himself), and chuckles to himself.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” He sobers up, and sighs. “I’m actually calling because…” He hesitates, not quite sure how to proceed. “I need… advice.”

Now it’s Coach’s turn to chuckle. “You do, huh?”

Nick swipes a hand over his eyes. “Yeah. Rochelle and Ellis are being…”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with how you and Ellis have been avoiding each other, now, would it?” Coach steamrolls right on ahead, and it takes Nick a few seconds to process his words.

“Wait, now it’s avoiding?” He repeats incredulously.

“Well, I don’t know, son, that’s just what it’s seemed like to me.”

Even though he now wants to bang the phone (or his head) against something, hard, Nick has to at least be grateful that Coach is direct.

Nick sighs. “Thanks, Coach.”

“That all you needed outta me?” Coach asks, sounding a bit grumpy.

“I guess so.” Nick says, then smirks. “Sorry, am I keeping you from your beauty sleep, old man?”

Coach hangs up on him.

Left with nothing else to do, and no one else to call, Nick decides to follow everyone else’s lead, and go to bed (couch, really). He doesn’t, however, go to sleep, not right away.

Because he’s now convinced that something is wrong, but he still doesn’t know what. It’s not that unusual that he didn’t notice anything, because he’s still not great at the whole friendship-slash-feelings thing. He’s gotten better over the years, though, and where once he wouldn’t have cared, now he can’t help but be bothered.

He also doesn’t like being the only one to not know what’s going on.

So he thinks. If he’s going to be perfectly honest with himself, then yes, they have seen less of each other, lately. And suddenly, he feels like a complete idiot—because how did he not notice this?

The thing is, that he and Ellis have always been kind of close. Not that he ever would have imagined they would be, ten years ago, when he first met him as a kid, and Ellis had annoyed the shit out of him. And, yeah, they’re close to Rochelle and Coach, too; but Rochelle has always been more of the mom of the group. Which, he supposes, makes Coach the grandpa. In any case, they were the caretakers, and Nick and Ellis were the two yelling, bickering brothers in the backseat of the car on the family road trip from hell.

But pretty soon, all the annoyance aside, heaven forbid anything ever attacked Ellis, because Nick would have taken down a goddamn Tank single-handed to make sure that kid was alright. He was never sure quite when or why or how he started feeling that way, and still isn’t, but he knows that he couldn’t have handled that shit without Ellis there.

It’s the reason Nick came back to stay permanently in New York. Because, lying in some bed in California (beautiful, warm California), he’d stared up at the ceiling and heard, distinctly, in his mind: “Nick, did I ever tell you ‘bout the time Keith and I—”, and he’d realized something: he was being a dumbass and he’d hitchhiked and caught a flight or two (air travel was sporadic, privately owned planes with douchebag owners or tiny two seaters at the best of times, and non-existent the rest) up North. And the whole ordeal of getting there had been completely worth it when Ellis had opened the door ready to kill, because it was like, two in the morning and "who the hell is hammerin’ on my door at this hour", and then he’d seen Nick.

They weren’t inseparable (damn close, though), because neither of them was ever really like that. And they weren’t dependent, because that was the last thing any of the four of them were likely to be, after having fought through a damn zombie apocalypse. But they were just as close, even after Nick had been gone for two whole years, and they got drunk together, and they were both there when Rochelle had Daniella, and they celebrated Coach’s birthday every year, and that, Nick thinks, is why he hadn’t noticed anything wrong. Because he’d just gotten used to them all being together.

So used to it, that he doesn’t notice little things, like the fact that he and Ellis are never together unless there is somebody else there (Daniella and Michael count), and that the last few times he asked Ellis if he wanted to come over and get drunk, Ellis had been busy. Or things like how Ellis makes bullshit excuses about being too tired, and says that he’s going to sleep, when it’s just the two of them in Rochelle’s tiny kitchen.

And, just like in California, as he lays there, staring up at the ceiling, he realizes something. They’re not avoiding each other. Ellis is avoiding him.

***

The next day—the day before Christmas—starts off tense, and gets worse. The good morning-s he and Ellis greet each other with are nothing less than awkward, and so they set about doing different tasks. Daniella and Michael are already up, so Ellis starts on the pancakes. Nick, in the meantime, deliberates on what they can do that day to keep the kids occupied.

“What if…” Nick thinks hard. He’s not really all that good at entertaining children—that’s more Ellis’s area of expertise. He remembers something, suddenly, and turns to the kids. “Okay, how ‘bout this? You guys wanna get a Christmas tree?”

Their eyes light up, and he knows he’s struck gold.

“Where the hell are we gonna get a tree from?” Ellis asks, as he unloads pancakes onto their plates. “Because there’s no way I’m hitchhiking out to the woods.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.” Nick grins. “I saw a place on the way back from fro-yo yesterday. It’s tiny, so I don’t know if we’ll find anything good, but…” He looks at Ellis imploringly. So do the kids. True to form, Ellis can’t resist the grin that spreads over his face.

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

The kids shriek in delight. Nick smiles.

It may be a tiny lot, but the selection is decent. The kids run wild, given the go ahead by Nick to find the tree they like the best. He and Ellis follow behind them in silence, walking through the snow side by side, hands shoved in pockets. A glance at Ellis shows Nick that the young man is staring at the ground, brow furrowed. Nick looks around them, at the sky, at the other trees, and then finally leans over and nudges Ellis with his elbow.

“Hey.”

“What?” Ellis asks. He sounds a tiny bit abrupt.

“What are you thinking about?”

Ellis shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“Come on,” Nick wheedles, annoying on purpose. “You can tell me.”

“Maybe I don’t want to, you ever think about that?”

Nick is slightly taken aback. He covers for it.

“Shit. I can still remember when you would tell me every little damn thing you were thinking. Very vividly.” He grins, puts on his stock I’m-from-the-South accent: “Did ah ever tell you guys ‘bout the time me an’ Keith—”

“Bet you’re glad I don’t do that anymore, huh?” Ellis cuts him off. He doesn’t sound all that amused. Nick shrugs.

“I don’t know. Between now and the times you actually talked to me?” Nick stares off after the kids, puffs his cheeks and blows out air, doesn’t look at Ellis when he says, “I think I liked it better before.”

To which Ellis sighs. “I guess I just grew up, Nick. Get over it.”

Nick doesn’t have any semblance of an answer to this, so it’s a good thing the kids call them over right at that moment. The tree they found is actually pretty big, and in the end they end up having to get a sled from the guy running the lot. The good thing about there being no cars and no traffic is they can drag it down the main road over the snow instead of on the sidewalk, where they'd have to avoid the remnants of street lights every few yards.

They try to mask the tension between them from Daniella and Michael while they put up the tree, but it’s not exactly successful. They’re pretending to be fine, but kids have a way of knowing when something is off—Nick can see them glancing at one another, confused, and it just makes him all the more annoyed, because he’d like to imagine everything is fine, and they’re making it hard, dammit. He doesn’t want to deal with this.

“Daniella, don’t pull on those wires like that, you’ll get them tangled,” he says at one point, irritated (and nervous, if he's being honest, silly thoughts of wires equaling electrocution buzzing in his head).

“But I want to help with these, too,” she says. “Michael gets to do lights, why can’t I—”

“Because Michael is less likely to screw it up,” Nick answers. “Notice how he is not pulling on things when I say not to pull on them?”

He catches the look on Ellis’s face, disapproving and a little mad, and he turns away, feeling his irritation rolling over into anger. He’s reaching the end of his tether.

Daniella has this expression on her face, half shock and half childish anguish, that her favorite uncle would say something like that to her. Nick feels bad instantly, but she stops messing with the damn wires, and he thinks, he’s got to be tough, or she’ll never learn.

This is a mistake.

Sometime later, the tree is twinkling, the ornaments have all been hung, and the last thing to do is put the star on the top. Nick goes to rummage in the decorations box, feeling proud in spite of himself.

“Michael,” he hears Ellis say from around the other side of the tree, “Lift that cord next to you, it's lopsided.”

The next thing Nick hears is Michael screeching, “STOP!”, a muffled curse from Ellis, and a scream from Daniella. He spins on his heels, just in time to see the entire fucking Christmas tree topple forward.

With reflexes he didn’t know he still had, he reaches out and snatches Michael out of the way—Ellis yanks Daniella back, and the entire thing crashes down in between both pairs of them, complete with the racket of smashing ornaments and cracking bulbs. For a minute, nobody says anything.

Finally, Nick asks, in a tone of forced calm, “What. Happened.”

“I didn’t do it! I was just doing what Ellis said!” Michael wails. “And Daniella pushed me outta the way, but she knocked it all down!”

“I could have done it myself!” Daniella yells back. “Michael, you’re so dumb, if you had just moved—”

“Ellis told me to do it! I’m not dumb, you are—”

“Don’t call me dumb!”

“ENOUGH!” Nick shouts. “Both of you, shut up!”

They fall silent. Nick rubs at the space between his eyes, where an acute headache is beginning to form. He stands up, imposing, and Daniella looks terrified. 

“It wasn’t my fault—”

“Yes, it was,” he says slowly, thinking, _stay calm_. It's both easy and difficult. They don't get adrenaline rushes like that anymore, but it feels the same, whether it's a Hunter pouncing out of the shadows, or a large piece of plant matter about to squash your best friend's children. He's learned to force himself to stay calm a long time ago, but his heart's still racing and he's definitely pissed. “You could have broken something, you could have hurt your brother—”

“I just wanted to show you—” Daniella says desperately, “—I wanted to show you I could do it.”

“Oh, well, did you?” Nick asks scathingly. This _is_ always how he stayed calm—he defaults to sarcasm, to being an ass. “You knocked down the goddamn tree instead, way to prove it to me.”

Daniella finally doesn’t try to argue. She just sits there and stares at him, eyes wide and beginning to fill with tears.

“Go to your room,” Nick orders. “Now.”

She detaches herself from Ellis and runs past Nick out of the living room. A few seconds later, he hears her door slam.

Ellis stands, too.

“Michael, you go to bed now too, okay?” Ellis asks.

“What?! I didn’t even do anything!”

“You’re not in trouble, Mikey,” Ellis looks up and he and Nick lock eyes. “I just gotta talk to Uncle Nick in private.”

“Oookaaaay…” Michael says reluctantly, and drags off to bed. As soon as they hear the door slam, Ellis lets him have it.

“What the FUCK is wrong with you?!” he growls in a kind of shouted whisper. “Could you have been any worse to Daniella? Jesus, Nick—”

“Oh, for—don’t start, Ellis, because I have had just about enough shit from you already!” Nick retorts. “That was a stupid thing she did, she should know better—”

“She doesn’t, Nick, she’s six!” Ellis throws his hands in the air. “She just wanted to impress you, although why she’d want anything to do with you after you basically telling her she’s a screw-up compared to her brother—”

“I didn’t say that, I just said—”

“You might as well have.” The younger man looks beyond incensed. “You sent a six year old to her room on Christmas Eve! What are you going to do tomorrow, throw her presents at her and leave?”

“Well, what were we going to do anyway, sit there not talking while they opened the stupid gifts? That’d be real fun for them.”

“Yeah.” Ellis nods. “Yeah, I guess this is just going to be a shitty Christmas for them no matter what, so it’s a good thing you screwed it up already.”

“Wait a minute,” Nick says furiously. “There was nothing wrong until you started acting like a fucking idiot. I wouldn’t be pissed if it weren’t for you, you goddamned jackass! Do not try to blame this whole thing on me.”

Ellis laughs harshly, something Nick isn’t used to hearing from him. “Nope, I’m pretty much blaming you, Nick.”

“That’s not even mentioning all the other shit that’s been going on.” Nick stalked closer to him. “You wanna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me for the past year or so? Wanna let me in on that little secret?”

He’s almost surprised when Ellis answers—kind of.

“Like I said,” The younger man says coolly, “I grew up. I’m moving on.”

“From what?!” Nick shouts.

“Nick, honestly, if you haven’t figured it out after ten fuckin’ years—” Ellis shakes his head, “Forget it.”

Something about this signals the end of the fight. Ellis steps over the fallen Christmas tree and when Nick refuses to move, he pushes past him.

“You can clean this up,” he says, as he goes.

Nick considers punching him, shoving him, saying something else—but in the end, he just lets Ellis walk away.

He’s walking back to the living room from the bathroom, fully intending to go to bed without clearing up the mess, when he passes by Daniella’s door and hears something. It’s soft, barely audible, and he stops to listen. The tiny sniffling sound comes again, and he realizes with a jolt that she’s crying.

He pushes open the door to her room, slowly. It’s dark inside, but in the light from the window, he can just make out her small form, curled on her side—and she’s crying, softly, little kid cries—the kind that shake their whole bodies, and often come accompanied by lots of moistness and a fair amount of snot. He would have been repelled, once, but now he steps inside the room, and tries to figure out what he should do.

“Daniella?” He calls softly. The tears stop abruptly. 

“ _What_.” She asks in a surly voice, and he deserves that. He’s surprised she doesn’t just tell him to get the fuck out, but then he remembers that she’s six.

“Can I… uh… come in?”

“You already are,” she points out.

“Right,” he takes a couple steps closer, and then stops. He has no idea what to say, and she’s obviously not going to talk to him, so he just goes with the obvious.

“Honey, I am so, so sorry.”

Daniella bursts into tears, and he abandons all pretense and crosses the few steps to her bed. She moves over to let him sit, so he does, and after a second, reaches out to her. He doesn’t mind that she buries her face in his shirt and weeps.

“I’m sorry—” she gasps out between sobs, “—that I knocked over the tree—and that I didn’t listen—”

He strokes her hair, and feels generally like the shittiest human being on the planet.

“—and that I’m stupid—and that—”

“Wait, what?” he asks. “That you’re what?”

She sniffles. “Stupid.”

“Daniella…” he sighs. “Whatever I said… I didn’t mean by any of it that you were stupid. I’d never think that about you.”

“But it’s true,” she says tearfully. “Everyone knows Michael’s the smart one—”

Nick rolls his eyes. “Sweetie… just forget Michael for a second, okay? Fuck Michael.”

Daniella stares at him, and too late he registers what he’s said and who he’s saying it to.

“Wait. No. That wasn’t good.” He stops. He is shit at this giving advice thing. Especially to kids. “Okay, that’s not what I meant, it came out wrong. What I meant was… you can’t keep comparing yourself to your brother. That’s what you do, isn’t it?”

She just stares at her knees.

“Daniella, look at me.”

Reluctantly, she meets his eyes.

“You are not stupid. You are one smart little kid—it’s actually kind of freaky, sometimes.” She giggles, and he keeps going, encouraged. “Just because you’re a little more outspoken than Michael doesn’t mean he’s smarter—it just means… he thinks a little longer before he says things. He’s more like your mom—you know what I mean? You, on the other hand… you’re like me and Ellis—you just say or do what you’re feeling.”

This makes him pause, remembering their conversations over the past couple of days. “Well, you’re like me, anyway,” he amends, and can’t help the trace of annoyance that creeps into his voice.

Daniella looks a good deal happier now that she’s been told she’s like him and Ellis. She rests her head on his chest and falls to playing with the rings on his fingers (he still wears them; old habits, and all that). She says quietly,

“I heard you guys fighting.”

“Yeah, I would have been surprised if you hadn’t,” he admits.

“Why are you fighting with each other? You never fight,” she says. “It’s like when mommy and dad are mad at each other—I hate it.”

“I’m not fond of it either, honey.”

“Are you guys even gonna be mad at each other on Christmas?” she asks, looking up at him. He wants to tell her no, but he doesn’t see how he can.

“I don’t want to be,” he says instead. “I hope we’re not. But I don’t know.” He sighs. “I don’t know what’s going on with him.”

She nods sadly.

“We’ll worry about it tomorrow. You should go to sleep.” He stands, and she snuggles back under the covers. He pads back to the door.

“Uncle Nick?” she calls sleepily.

“What’s up?”

“Umm… well… just so you know… when my dad and mommy fight, they never stay mad at each other,” she says. “So I think it’ll all be okay. Because you and Ellis love each other, too.”

Nick freezes at the doorway.

“I think if you tell him, he won’t be mad at you anymore. At least, that’s what dad always does. Mommy always pretends to be mad still, but then... she isn't.” When he doesn’t respond, she whispers, “Kay… that’s it. Goodnight.”

“…Goodnight, sweetheart.” He steps out, and closes the door behind him, leaning against it.

Holy shit.

“You really are your mother’s kid, aren’t you?” he mutters to himself. Then he goes into the living room, and cleans up the damn tree.

***

It’s nice when everything just falls into place.

“Ellis?” Nick knocks on the bedroom door, softly, not wanting to wake the kids. It’s early Christmas morning—the sun has just barely risen. “Ellis, open the door.”

He realizes belatedly that even if Ellis wakes up, and hears him, he might not respond anyway. He’s just beginning to wonder if calling, “fire!” or, “the kids are zombies!” would yield any response or just be a completely underhanded blow, when the door swings open and he is met with a glare.

“What?” Ellis asks, sounding irritated, and, yeah, really pissed off, but at least he’s not throwing punches. Yet.

“Here,” Nick says, and without further preamble, shoves a gift wrapped box into his hands.

Ellis stares at him with a completely unreadable expression on his face, and for a second, Nick thinks he might just throw the box at him and slam the door in his face, but then he seizes one end of the bow and tugs, and it falls to the floor. He rips the wrapping off next, rather unceremoniously.

“Hey,” Nick says indignantly, “Be a little more delicate. You know I suck at gift-wrapping, that took me forever.”

“I am about _this_ close to throwing the box at you and slamming the door in your face,” Ellis informs him, and Nick nods.

“Okay.” Well, he’d been close to right.

The last of the wrapping comes off, to reveal a plain black box. Ellis opens it questioningly, looks inside—his face remains blank. He tips the box over and nothing falls out. It’s empty. He looks back up at Nick.

Nick doesn’t do anything. He just waits to see.

Ellis lets the box fall from his hands, at Nick’s feet. He says nothing, just turns his back on Nick and pushes the door closed.

Nick leans against the door. And now he speaks.

“So that’s it? No ‘ha ha, very funny’? No ‘hey Nick, this box is empty’? Not even a ‘what the fuck, man, you’re an asshole’?”

No response.

“Seriously, Ellis, I expected more outta you.”

There’s like, a second of silence, and then the door flies open. Nick almost falls into the room, and catches himself just in time. He straightens, to look Ellis in the face. The two of them stand separated by nothing but the threshold of the doorway.

“You—” Ellis looks like he can’t decide on an emotion—anger, shock, maybe even something bordering amusement, Nick can’t tell. “You expected more? From me? You expected more—” He seems to be stuck on these words. “How the hell can you stand there—you son of a—”

Nick is, honestly, a little surprised. Ellis, speechless? Who’d’ve thought it?

“Nick, I swear to God—if you don’t get the hell away from this door—‘cuz I just about had it with you—”

“So when did you give up on me, exactly?” Nick cuts in, smoothly, he’d like to think.

Ellis stops spluttering and just stares at him, and Nick thinks he looks almost… afraid?

“Let’s see…” Nick says thoughtfully, taking advantage of his stunned silence, “It can’t be when I was away—because Rochelle told me you used to talk about me nonstop. Like I was the new Keith, or something.” Ellis makes no response to his musings, so he continues. “And it can’t be when I came back, because you would show up on my doorstep all the time. It can’t even be like, two years ago, because remember, you nearly drank yourself into a coma that one time, and you called me. You were so out of it, and you said… you said it was my fault. And that was it. Nothing else. But I remember.”

His voice has lost that nonchalant, walk-down-memory lane tone; he’s staring at Ellis openly, and Ellis looks like he wants nothing more than to look away, but he can’t.

“See?” Ellis says faintly, “Knew you were smart enough to figure it out. You just weren’t tryin’.” He suddenly heaves a big, shuddering sigh—like everything is just too much. “You just didn’t want to see it, I guess. Didn’t want to screw up the friendship or anything.” He shakes his head. “You don’t have to worry, though. I’m over it. Just… gotta keep my distance, you know? At least for a little while.”

And he looks so lost, and Nick knows that’s all a bunch of bullshit.

“Ellis—”

“I mean, I don’t know why I didn’t try to stop it sooner.” Ellis plows over anything he’s going to say, like he’s got a confession of his own. “I think it’s ‘cuz I didn’t know what it was I was feelin’ myself, and by the time I realized, it was too late to try and stop. But I can’t just keep on like this, man, it’s too—” He breaks off, and swallows hard. “I know I miss things sometimes, but I’m not that dumb. And I know you well enough to know how you—that it’s not gonna happen.”

The expression on his face makes Nick want to end the back and forth right there, to just tell Ellis what he came knocking on his door at six in the morning to tell him—but he has to make him understand.

“Actually, we’re both kind of fucking stupid,” he says. Ellis doesn’t ask him why, but he continues anyway. “Because neither of us, apparently, managed to figure out why I came back here in the first place. Or why I couldn’t leave, because I knew I had to be there to open the door when you came knocking at all hours.” He takes a deep breath. “Or why I walked over to your house in the middle of the night, to stay up with you after you told me it was my fault you were practically dying of alcohol poisoning, even though you wouldn’t tell me what I did. Neither of us figured it out.”

Nick isn’t sure if Ellis is just sleepy, or what, but it does not look like he’s processing what Nick is trying to tell him.

“What—” The younger man starts to say, before Nick cuts him off.

“There is nothing I can give you,” he explains, kicking the empty box over. “Which, really, is shitty.” He decides to end the self-conscious no-eye-contact crap and looks straight into Ellis’s, easy, because they’re standing so close. He has to make him see this. “Because you’ve given me everything. And there’s just—there’s nothing I can give you that would even begin to approach everything that I should have. Or want to. Or ever can… um, give you.”

He stops, feeling inarticulate, and ridiculous, and Ellis just stares at him, wide eyed, wordless. He is so bad at this, fucking hell. Does Ellis even get it? They’re literally just standing there, and he feels like he’s trying to fucking commune with a pigeon or something.

“Ellis,” he says, feeling his temper rising a bit. Don’t make him say it, don’t make him say it—“Do you seriously not get it? I lo—”

Ellis bursts into laughter. Nick freezes mid-word.

“I’m sorry—” Ellis gasps out. “I’m sorry, but man, you just look so awkward—”

Nick is not amused. “Are you shitting me right now?”

Ellis nods his head, swiping at his eyes. Tears of laughter, right? Ellis kind of stares at his feet for a second, but when he looks up, his eyes are totally dry. A little suspiciously bright, but that could just be the fact that they are practically lit up with happiness, and his expression makes Nick’s stomach do some weird little flip-floppy bullshit _thing_.

“You don’t have to say it,” he tells Nick. “I know you don’t want to. I just wanted… to see if you might. You know. Say it.”

“I don't not want to.” Nick fidgets. “It’s just that…” Just that the words aren’t even enough. Not to cover ten years of whatever the hell they have, whatever he’s been feeling this whole time, without even knowing it. They’re not nearly enough. They’re almost clichéd, empty.

“I know.” Ellis says. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I know, now. So it’s okay.”

They continue to just stand there, looking at each other, but the silence is no longer uncomfortable. It’s… something, now. Nick can’t quite put his finger on it, but it’s just right, whatever it is.

Of course, it is rapidly shattered by the sound of tiny, pattering feet, and then Daniella shrieks, “MERRY CHRISTMAS!” and barrels into Nick at waist level, just as he turns around, and almost kills him.

“Oh, motherffff—” he gasps, doubling over. Even Michael giggles at this, coming up on his sister’s heels. Ellis also looks amused, and Nick considers punching him in the crotch, see how he likes it. Perhaps not. It might send mixed signals to his tiny, stupid brain. He settles upon glaring.

“Presents now?” Michael asks, interrupting his violent thoughts.

“Why are you both up this early?” Nick groans.

“Why are _you_ both up this early?” Daniella fires back.

“Uh…” He grabs her without warning and hefts her up into his arms. “Because we are.”

“Presents!” Ellis concludes, and there is much rejoicing.

As they head to the living room, Daniella pats Nick on the cheek.

“Did you tell him?” she asks anxiously.

He smiles. “Yeah, I did.”

“And?”

“And… I think it worked.” Nick grins at her.

“Told you,” she says smugly.

She scampers out of his arms the second she sees the presents, and he watches her go in amusement. Amazing that a six year old could figure out in ten minutes what had taken him ten years.

“So…” Ellis says, sidling up to him and bumping their shoulders together. “Merry Christmas, and shit.” He’s not looking at Nick; he’s watching the kids, but he is smiling like Nick hasn’t seen him smile in a long time.

“Yeah.” Nick grins back. “Merry Christmas, and that other thing, too.”

“What, happy holidays?” Ellis asks, grin now distinctly of the shit-eating variety.

“Asshat.” Nick shoves him, but Ellis catches him off guard, grabbing his arm, and pulling Nick into him, in a kind of one-armed hug.

And Nick doesn’t pull away. He just smiles like an idiot into Ellis’s hair (and maybe, maybe, he plants a kiss in there once, but no one saw anything, okay), and they watch the kids tear into the wrapping like they’re human paper shredders. And it’s so painfully domestic that Nick can feel the last of his aloof dignity stripping away.

But fuck it, whatever, you know?

It’s Christmas.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last of my L4D2 fics that I've pulled over from an old account, updated from long ago and way back when. Just wanted to say thank you to the Nellis fandom for being so supportive, for reading and commenting. You guys are just as awesome as when I first started writing these fics for this pairing (there were literally only three of us when I first started!!) - I'm glad to see it still sailing strong. 
> 
> Happy holidays, everyone! <3


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